❛ ━ꜱᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴡᴏ━ ❜ After their world went up in smoke following the heartbreaking loss of their child, Choi San and Jung Wooyoung's engagement shattered into pieces. Each day became a battle for survival in a sea of grief. Struggling to c...
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─•~❉ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ❉~•─
- ｔｈｒｅｅ ｗｅｅｋｓ ｌａｔｅｒ -
Today was the day, another treatment. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, lost in my thoughts, too exhausted to move. My body ached with a deep, relentless weariness. Nervously, I ran my fingers through my hair, seeking some small comfort in the familiar gesture, but instead, I felt strands of hair come loose and gather in my palm. My breath caught as I lifted my hand, looking at the clump of hair that had come away. My stomach dropped, a heavy pit of despair settling in.
I sat up slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Tentatively, I ran my fingers through my hair again, and more strands came away. The reality of my condition hit me with a fresh wave of fear and sadness. The visible evidence of my illness was now undeniable, and it felt like a part of my identity was slipping away.
San must have sensed my distress because he appeared at the doorway, his eyes immediately locking onto mine with concern. "Wooyoung? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle but urgent.
I held up my hand, showing him the hair. "It's starting," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm losing my hair."
San crossed the room quickly, sitting beside me on the bed. He took my hand, the one holding the hair, and gently pulled me into an embrace. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "This is so hard, but you're so strong."
I buried my face in his shoulder, letting the tears fall. The fear of losing my hair was more than just vanity; it felt like losing a part of myself, a tangible sign of the battle raging within me. San held me, his presence a steadying force as I let out the pent-up emotions.
I pulled away quickly, slipping out of the bed and running my fingers through my hair as I walked toward the bathroom, biting my lip to hold back the sob that threatened to escape. The clumps of hair in my hand felt like a cruel reminder of the relentless battle I was facing. My breath hitched as I looked down at the strands, the urge to break down becoming almost unbearable.
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the tears blurring my vision. The person looking back at me seemed so different from who I used to be. The weight of my illness felt suffocating, and I struggled to keep it together. The sobs I had been holding back finally escaped, and I sank to the floor, clutching the hair in my hands, feeling utterly defeated.
"I don't want to go to the treatment. I'm not going through all of this," I said, turning away from San and hiding my face in my hands. The weight of it all was too much, and the thought of another grueling session filled me with dread and despair.
"Woonie..." he whispered, his voice gentle yet pleading. But I shook my head, crying quietly, overwhelmed by the turmoil inside me.
"You have to..." he continued, his voice breaking slightly. The desperation and concern in his tone cut through my defenses, but the fear and frustration still bubbled over.
